The Strange and Impossible Pregnancy of Draco Abraxas Malfoy
by Greymoon68
Summary: One-shot: slash H/D mpreg. AU Set during the war, established relationship. Followed by a series of extracts, muses and food for your thoughts.
1. The Strange and Impossible Pregnancy

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and its universe belong to J. K. Rowling

**Notes: **Here comes a series of extracts and muses.

This first one, can be read as a one-shot. Though I have to warn you, obviously, that I won't be extrapolating on this idea. I just needed to get it off my chest...and since there's a lot of ideas I need to get off my chest, I decided to post them all together to be used and abused, by you.

As is the case with much of my stories, this first ficlet is up for adoption or can be turned into a challenge in which case the following should be respected:

1. Mpreg is not a common occurence and is actually impossible.

2. Draco's condition is due to a potion mishap of a kind and as a result, Draco is neither of the 'male' nor of the 'female' gender.

3. the pregnancy, isn't an easy one since the male body isn't meant for it, and birthing should be impossible by natural means.

**Warnings: **slash, mpreg and implied abortion/miscarriage

* * *

**The Strange and Impossible Pregnancy of Draco Abraxas Malfoy**

"Mr. Potter, a word with you in private…"

The young healer stood awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, arms crossed over her notebook, lips pinched into a thin line, her long hair disheveled. She wore smears of blood and dirt on her face and clothes, the sole testament of the attack that occurred not two hours ago at St Mungus. Harry stood, ignoring the curious eyes following him out and led her upstairs towards Sirius's bedroom, abandoned now for over two years.

He sat down on the bed and motioned for her to do the same. She hesitated just a moment, gaze trailing over the dusty floor, the graying pictures that hung from the walls and finally towards him. Quickly, her eyes flicked up towards his forehead, and back down again.

Her hands shook lightly, clenching and unclenching around her middle, she was still reeling from the shock it seemed to him, and he wondered if mayhap, she would have preferred to stay at the ruins of the hospital and help the injured. As quickly as the thought had come to his mind, he dismissed it. The order had need of a healer as well.

"What is it?" he wondered. She startled a bit, focused on him again, instead of her surroundings, and cleared her throat.

"Mr. Malfoy asked me to take you into confidence." Harry nodded, she continued "Need I tell you that this conversation must remain between us?" she wondered. He shook his head.

Again she cleared her throat.

"He…" she started and hesitated again. "You are aware of the low birth rate amongst wizards, are you not?" at Harry's nod she continued.

"And you are aware of the importance of a male heir to carry on the name?"

"I gathered it was important, yes." The healer nodded, and took a deep breath.

"Of course…I-in 1959 the ministry licensed the use of a potion meant to change the gender of a new born …" she started carefully. "Its use was restricted of course, it was only allowed in cases were either parent proved to be unable to produce another child." Harry nodded in understanding.

"This _potion_ was banned in 1982, because some of the recipients of the potion proved, at an adult age, to be infertile…amongst other side effects that could not be detected at an early age." She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"What kind of side effects?" Harry wondered, blood pounding in his ears. Somehow, he had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

"Chemical and psychological imbalances are the most frequent." Harry nodded.

"So…Draco-" she cut him off.

"The tests I conducted seem to indicate he was a recipient of the potion…we normally keep track of such children and have their files at St Mungus…I do not recall Mr. Malfoy to…have had such a file but…"

"Lucius Malfoy would make certain no one knew." Harry stated bitterly. Healer Abbey nodded.

"That is what I thought as well." She sighed.

"Mr. Malfoy's case is…not ordinary." Her brow furrowed. "The potion was either not brewed correctly or his body revolted against it…either way…while in all appearance he is a man…" she swallowed thickly. "He has the reproductive organs of both woman and man."

"Wha-"

"His female" she blushed, suddenly looking very young in the dim light of Siriur's bedchamber.

"_ah..._his female...parts are underdeveloped" she explained quickly "and though he lacks a proper uterus…he had his first…ovulation some 9 weeks ago. If not for the amount of testosterone in his body, this process should have happened much sooner, as it is, were he…a woman, he would be considered a late-bloomer."

"I…_what_? Are you telling me he had…_his period?_" She kneeled in front of Harry and took his hands into hers.

"No Mr. Pot-Harry" she sighed.

"I know this is difficult to accept and I honestly don't understand how it is even possible…magic has a way of its own, they say…" she smiled feebly.

"What…what I meant to say is that…that Mr. Malfoy, your...boyfriend?" he didn't correct her "should have had his first menstruation 8 weeks ago…but he didn't…he is expecting."

"Err…what?" his heart was hammering against his rib cage, he swallowed thickly...Surely this was some kind of joke.

He was too young, much too young, and…and Draco was a man! A _boy,_ a _boy_ just like him. Children, barely over 17 and in the middle of a fucking war…

_This is not happening. _

_"_…you must understand that this pregnancy is likely to be very difficult…his body is not made for carrying a child, and with no records on similar cases…"

_This is not happening. _

But she was neither laughing nor mocking him.

"We will need to monitor it very closely."

_This is not happening. _

Her lips were moving, he wasn't listening anymore; he stood.

"Mr. Potter…"

_This is not happening. _

"Mr. Potte-"

"uhm?" he said finaly.

_This is not happening_

"The recommended course of action would be to_ terminate_ this pregnancy as soon as possible."

"_What?" _

She cleared her throat, avoided his eyes.

"I…do not think the pregnancy to be viable."

And Harry thought, for one last time...

_THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. _

* * *

_Tbc, see notes at the top of the page. _


	2. Half Breed, Monster, Freak

**Note: **as is mentionned in the summary, the first ficlet is followed by extracts, muses and food for your thoughts... Thus, this 'chapter' has little to do with the first. Don't get confused.

This one, on Zabini.

* * *

**Half-breed, monster, freak… **

"Mother"

She faces away from him. Her back is straight and narrow, covered in a cloak that pools gracefully around her feet. She nods once, lightly, her eyes never meeting his. For hours she'd stood by the window, shoulders tense in anticipation, her face is, as always, covered by a dark veil. Outside the night sky is bright with stars, the moon's reflecting against the window pane, the veil flutters lightly in the breeze...and when she turns his way slightly, the light catches her eyes.

They shine like diamonds in the dark.

She has always been beautiful, but in moments such as these, when life is put on hold and only wild animals still roam the forest beyond, his breath catches in his throat and he wonders, every time, how any could ever resist her.

"It is time." Again she nods, her eyes shadowed, her lips turning up beneath her veil in some twisted parody of a smile.

"Indeed." She pauses and he imagines a flicker of doubt crossing her features. It was perhaps only wistful thinking. She turns around again, towards the window; he closes his eyes and turns on his heel, head held high.

In one swift movement he grabs his cloak, letting the hood fall amply around his brow, he looks back again, nods to himself, and breathes.

He takes a step, the heel of his boots echoing loudly in his ears, and he bites his lip, confidence wavering, shattered like the silence around them both.

And then…

"Blaise?" he stops.

"_Half breed _or no, you are my son. Make certain Mortimer remembers."

He supposes he should have answered, but instead he flees, her words gnawing at his heart like a wound that'd never heal.

_Half-breed_, _monster, freak… _

He wishes he could have held her one last time.

The gathering has started when he arrives. Hundreds of his mother's kin have come from across the British islands. his heart his hammering against his rib cage as he sees the shadows moving alongside him, swift and graceful, to the human eye they would appear no more than smoke.

And yet, he sees their faces, glimpses the outlines of their bodies. But further away, they blur and blend together like one dark fog and his head is spinning, his breathing ragged. He shadows his own face deeper into the folds of his cloak. He shudders when their cold breath grazes against his neck, and he imagines their laughter…

_half-breed, monster, freak… _

Then, he enters the hall. A thousand eyes turn towards him as one, nostrils flaring, tasting the air. He lowers his hood.

"Wizard" one of them says, and chuckles.

"The Black Widow sends me" he answers, eyes challenging and giving nothing away. Inside he is trembling. A rumor goes through the assembly; the man who addressed him raises a hand in warning.

"The Black Widow you say?" Blaise nods, defiant. The man chuckles again, his eyes roaming over the boy's features.

"You are that abomination she calls a son."

"I am." Blaise admits. Torches and candles play shadows across his face, and briefly, when he speaks, his canines show, white and sharp against the dark of his skin. Again, whispers across the assembly. Blaise smirks.

"Though abomination is not the word I would use." He says after a moment.

"Rather…I am the better of two worlds." He states, boldly. His fear has abated; still he is all too conscious of the blood pumping through his veins and the magic stirring restlessly in his body.

The man laughs, and the last of his worries vanish.

"I'll vouch for you,_ abomination_."


	3. Conversations

**Notes: **there's supposed to be some gaelic words in there, but I don't speak it, so I'd ask you not to trust them to be correct. Sorry in advance to anyone and all who speak the language.

**Conversations, a continuation on Muses **

* * *

"Potter, how much do you know about Pureblood society?"

"Not much"

"Do you know about the Pact?"

"…"

"Marriage?"

"…"

"the Old ways?"

"…"

"Right… what about Pureblood families, do you know anything about them? Their histories?"

"I know Weasleys and Malfoys don't like each other…."

"Alright…that's as good a place to start as any…do you know how the blood feud started?"

"Blood Feud?"

"…Right…forget about the feud… Do you know each family has a particular motto?"

"_Toujours Pur_ , that's the Black family motto, isn't it?"

"Yes it is…how do you know _that_?"

"…"

"Well… Anyway…do you know what the Malfoy family motto is?"

"Nope."

"_Family, Pride and Duty…_why are you laughing? It's not funny…"

_"S_orry…I just though _Sniveling, Smirking and Serving _fit better…"

"Potter. You _really shouldn't _laugh about it…anyway…_Family_ is very important to the Malfoys…and if you knew about the blood feud, you'd understand why its so important and _why_ Draco's an only child…for that matter, you'd look at the Weasley's in a different light…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"…Well…its… Really I can't believe you don't know anything about it…"

"I don't"

"It's….well…it happened some six or seven generations ago…Basically…Margaret Weasley the youngest but more talented of five sisters was named heir to the Weasley fortune…Billius Weasley, her only brother, was a squib…anyway…Margaret was to marry Felix Malfoy but Billius and his sisters did not want the Weasley lands and titles to fall into the hands of Felix, who, while showing great promise was considered to be of a breeding below the Weasley's worth…Anyway…Billius wanted his own son Percival to become the next Baron of Wiltshire, a title the Weasleys held since the establishment of the status of secrecy…so…he and his sisters cursed Margaret to be unable to bear any children…Obviously though, the curse Billius devised, backfired, and Margaret _did _have one child_. _The Weasleys lost their titles and fortune and ever since the Malfoys have had a very low birth rate…that's the short version anyway…"

"…?"

"Back to the point…what you _should _remember is that a Malfoy's _first allegiance _is always to his family."

"And I still don't understand why you're telling me this…?"

"Oh…well… Parkinson slept with Nott and so the marriage contract between her and Draco was cancelled…. My own father thought it an excellent idea to betroth Draco to my sister, Astoria."

"Oh…I'm sorry."

"Not as much as I…It was supposed to be me, actually…But I'm too _untamed_ and _stubborn _according to Narcissa…Astoria is such a sweet child."

"…"

"…Anyway…so…The Greengrass's have always prided themselves in being neutral…We _were _neutral during the first war."

"…"

"_But…_with Astoria being _promised _to the Malfoy heir and with Malfoy's allegiance to….well…It seems obvious that we cannot stay neutral anymore."

"Okay…?"

"Father seems to have forgotten that _I_ unlike Astoria, was sorted into Slytherin house. Self preservation and all that…"

"…?"

"For Merlin's sake Potter…do I need to write it out for you?"

"Hum?"

"I'm trying to…you know…"

"no…I don't."

"Well…you know marriage contracts and all that…"

"No I really don't…and really...how _old _is your sister? I mean…forcing her to marry anyone is barbaric, isn't it? I didn't even know arranged marriages were still done amongst purebloods…that's so…err…_backwards…and wrong…_ ugh…I couldn't imagine marry anyone I didn't…you know?"

"Potter…"

"And _I feel so sorry for her…_marrying the ferret…that's got to be horrible!"

"Potter…"

"…Merlin I'm so glad I'm_ not _a fucking pureblood…"

"_POTTER!" _

"Yes?"

"As I was saying…I, Daphne Greengrass, daughter and heir of Cygnus Greengrass, Head of the most ancient House of Greengrass…do hereby ask you, Harry James Potter, Head of house Potter, to consider the possibility of uniting our houses in saint matrimony."

"hum?"

"_Look _Potter… Malfoy is to marry my _sister. My sweet little sister…_ Astoria, bless her soul, is sadly head over heels in love with the prat. My father, conniving bastard that he is, believes that with his _youngest _betrothed to the son of a death eater, the Dark Lord will let him and his family be…He thinks he bought our safety, what he truly did however, is doom my sister to a miserable existence …Fact is, Potter, that _Lucius Malfoy_ made a mistake some 20 _fucking_ years ago, and he's too much of a _fucking coward to do anything about it._ Fact is, Draco Malfoy is paying for his _father's fucking_ cowardice and is deep over his head in _shit. _Fact is, Narcissa Malfoy's and Draco Malfoy's life _hang on a thread _and my _sweet little sister _is being pulled down along with them…"

"Err…"

"_Malfoys - when they are not busy being cowards -_ _care first and foremost about family… Astoria_ is family, or as good as. By extension, _I am family… by extension, _my betrothed _is family…_need I make it any clearer?"

"Err…"

"For Merlin's sake! I'm offering you the allegiance of Greengrass _and Malfoy!"_

_"Err…"_

* * *

**Some time later...**

"So…what's the Pact, then?"

"Oh well…you do know the establishment of the Ministry of Magic is quite recent, don't you?"

".."

"1817, do try to remember, I hate to repeat myself….anyway….so up until 1817, the wizards of England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales _and _Brittany, were ruled by _the Pact_…it is the eldest set of codified magical laws in the western hemisphere…it still exists, by the way…but back to your question….so…the Pact, basically dictated _conduct_ and _allegiance _amongst wizards – its often referred to as _the Old Ways…anyway…_According to the Pact, the Seven Arts were given to seven wizards .._.please _tell me you know _what _the Seven Arts are…?"

"Err…"

"You really have been kept in the dark, haven't you?"

"U-hum…"

"Sigh…so…the Seven Arts are the Seven main Branches of Magic…though it _can be _difficult to keep them apart, each Art has particularities and most wizards are more or less inclined towards _one kind of art, and no other…_but anyway…so they are: the Natural Arts – herbology for instance- the Elementary Arts –like Charms and Transfiguration… the Metaphysical Arts – such as Alchemy and healing… The Divining Arts – Divination and Astronomy amongst them…The Subtle Arts – Potions and the Mind Arts - the Arts of Crafting – Curse crafting, Wandmaking and the likes…and finally…The Arts Most Obscure…otherwise known as _the Dark Arts… _"

"Oh…"

"Yeah…so the Seven Arts were divided amongst the seven most powerful wizards of the Celtic territories…and they became the first Heads of the Seven Great Houses…you do know about the seven great houses, don't you?"

"Nope…"

"…"

"…"

"Alright then… the Seven Great Houses were the _first _Houses of _our _magical society…the Seven _heads _of Houses, or the Seven Masters, or _Ceannardan_ were incidentally the first wizarding _rulers ever…_ they held a _council _which, obviously, was called _council of the seven_ and _only_ the _Supreme Head_, also called the _Great Master _had any veto on their decision….he was something of a king at the time…the Seven Heads were at the origin of the creation of the Winzgamot, _obviously, _and just the same, the Supreme Mugwump is _actually inspired _by the ancient Title a _Supreme Head…_not lost yet?"

_"_No…go on."

"Right…so…Originally each Great House had one _Master of Arts _and_ seven Vassals_…either way…a practitioner of a particular Art, be he Master or Vassal is called a _Curaidh, _a champion or _Keeper _of the Old Ways. According to _the Pact_, The Greengrasses are Keepers of the Natural Arts, as are the Longbottoms, the Woods, and Sprouts… Bones, Malfoys and Blacks are Keepers of the Arts most Obscure..."

"Bones? As in _Susan_ and _Amelia_ _Bones?" _

_"_Of course Potter, she lives at the _Ossuary_, why else would her house be named such, if not because her ancestors were practitioners of the Dark arts, amongst which, Necromancy?"

"…"

"As I was saying…The Princes are, or rather _were_ keepers of the Subtle Arts…"

"Princes?"

"Yes. Prince, as in Eileen Prince, the unfortunate mother of our dear Professor Snape…unfortunate in that she married her would be murderer, a muggle of the worst sort, apparently"

"Snape's mum got killed by his dad?"

"Indeed."

"Poor sod…and…he's a _half-blood_?"

"Yes"

"…"

"Are you quite done interrupting?"

"Err…yeah…no…does that mean _Snape _is now a keeper of the _subtle Arts?_"

"Obviously"

"'kay"

"Right…as I was saying the Flamels…"

"What about the Potters? Where do they fit in?"

"…They don't..."

"Why not?"

"I'm not certain…but I think that by the time the Potters appeared the Pact was already broken…."

"But you said it still exists…"

"It does…but it was broken for the first time - _in recorded history mind you- _in 1657 when _Frederick Mud,_ a Keeper of the Natural Arts, died. He was married to the muggleborn witch Eloise, who then returned to the muggle world with her children. That alone was treason, because,_ once you join the Pact, _you and your children become part of a _community_, but Eloise fled her _duties_ and _responsibilities_. To make matters worse she spilled the secrets of our Art to the muggles and gained money out of it… anyway….she and her children were henceforth banished from the wizarding society. The wizards referred to them as _Mudbloods…_as inthe blood of Frederick Mud…just in case you wondered where the insult came from…anyway…so Eloise broke the Pact, and by the time the Potters came along, most purebloods were wary of allowing young houses, such as your own, to join…hum..I guess that's why in the end it became necessary to establish a Ministry_"_

"Oh…alright…but you said it was broken _for_ _the first time…?"_

"Yes…the Pact's been broken numerous times in the past….either way, we call wizards that betray the pact Bloodtraitors."

"...So when you call Ron's family…?"

"Indeed…"

"Oh."

"Potter…if there _is _a single thing you _should _remember from this conversation, it's that _the_ _Pact _is the _only reason_ the Ministry is _not all powerful. _It's a considerable force, even today, and it's something muggleborns will never understand nor ever be part of."

"That's discriminatory…"

"No, it's the truth Potter…The _Masters of Arts_, have acquired the knowledge _and _power of generations upon generations of wizards. That knowledge did _not _come freely, but with _great sacrifice_. It is _only _normal that it should be guarded jealously…I'm not saying it's right or that purebloods shouldn't mingle with muggleborns, just that I understand why it's rarely done…Of course exceptions are made for particularly powerful muggleborns…As long as they bring something into the marriage…You know like knowledge, power, wealth…such things "

"…D'ya think…Hermione could…?"

"Mayhap…If she found some upstanding pureblood wizard…she'd have to be accepted by the Master of Arts of whichever Vassal she marries though…"

"…right…so…what happens if I, a Potter, do indeed marry you?"

"…that's different."

"How so?"

"You're the Boy Who Lived…you'd bring wealth, prestige…power…and besides, in the absence of a brother, you'd become the _de facto_ heir of House Greengrass…it was always a sour spot for my father to only have girls, really...a son, or a husband would increase the social standing of our house… "

"Oh…so I'd become a keeper of the Natural Arts as well?"

"…Err…That's for magic to decide…it's like this see…A lot of things in our society function on patriarchal structures…the _de facto_ Heads of Houses are usually male, _there are not _however, necessarily the err…magical _heads or blood heirs _of a House_…_ you see, magic, unlike the Ministry, does not discriminate between genders, it does however care a great _deal _about blood…so...while you'd become Heir to the estate and get the seat on the Winzgamot as well as full access to my family vaults…magic might never deem you a true heir of Greengrass because you don't share our blood…so…who's to say?"

"Right…so…what happens if you'd marry a muggle?"

"Well…that's rather tricky…such a marriage wouldn't be advantageous to the Pact and would likely be considered as blood treason_." _

"Right…but Snape's mum…"

"Was a blood traitor…but once her father and uncles died, Snape became the sole heir of Prince…and…well…There are very few Keepers of the Subtle Arts, so since he showed great promise, he was allowed to redeem his House."

* * *

**Much, much later... **

"So, let me recap. Basically there are three types of Very Important Wizards…First, the Keepers of the Old Ways, Second – in your words - Ministry dogs and Winzgamot fools, like Fudge - and third, _double players_ like Bones and Malfoys...and then there's all this fauna of Vassals and would be Vassals, Barons…Dukes and Lords – which are _only honorary titles since the Ministry is independent from the Muggle Crown- _and lastly, come the Blood traitors and other enemies of _the Pact_."

"Yes…."

"And the last _Supreme Head_ was Master of the Arts most Obscure…and he disappeared?"

"Indeed."

"And you haven't elected any new Head since the 15th century…?"

"I told you, it's _not _wizards that elect him…it's _magic." _

_"_Right…and when that happens, all of the sudden this guy's got the power of the Seven_ combined?" _

"_Ugh! _ALL wizards, Masters or Vassals are bound together by _magic. _Every time, someone dies, his or her innate magic becomes a part of the _Pact. _Basically there's this big stone that is _infused_ with the Pact's power…for ritual purpose, _all Seven Masters can draw on it _but, it requires a great amount of cooperation _and _solidarity…anyway…In _theory, _the _Supreme head_ is the only one with an unlimited access to it, so in short, he gets the power of _generations upon generations _of wizards and witches…However if the _head _disappears or is deemed unworthy…well…it's been some time now since _anyone _was able to _draw_ on the stone…"

"…Okay…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"So… That is the _true reason _ the power of the Pact is _broken?"_

"Yes."

"And the last head was a descendant of Ignotus Peverell…who is not just a character of fiction…?"

"…!"

"And Ignotus Peverell was in possession of an invisibility cloak...?"

"Yes, yes and yes _Potter_!"

"…Interesting…"

"…"

"Can you read the story again, please?"

"_Potter…_"

"I never took ancient runes…"

"_Potter…"_

"Please?"

* * *

**Notes:** I don't know what I was thinking myself, but either way... it's a bit of a twist on the usual marriage fic. I like working with cliches. If anyone is interested, it is quite possible to use the ideas I post here, or even some of the text, or whole dialogues for your own fics. It'd be a compliment, actually.


	4. A Day out Fishing

**Notes: **continuation on muses. It's a bit silly, be warned. Harry/Ginny...err...no. Hints of drarry or possibly of a one sided Harry/Ron. Harry's just being his usualy oblivious self.

Set after 6th year I reckon.

* * *

**A Day out Fishing**

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in that situation…or rather, he does remember, but he is unsure of the…why.

Does he truly have so little control of… well…?

He sighs, looking at the girl at his feet.

He closes his eyes. Surely, he should not think that much while she's doing _that _to him… but…does it have to be so noisy?

"_Gin…" _he claps his lips shut, appalled at the way he sounded..._Breathless, husky, aroused_...

When really, he's just embarassed. He promptly blushes. 

_Concentrate._ He tells himself. _Enjoy_…

For some reason he imagines Aunt Petunia looking at him with her judgmental eyes and he shudders, blushes, feels…caught, ashamed….

_Enjoy _he repeats…but really the sucking, licking and…and gagging sounds coming from her mouth…

_Does it have to be so noisy? _

He shudders suddenly when her tongue twirls around him…_oh. _

_That's nice_ he thinks, and glares, glares glares at Aunt Petunia.

"do that…" he mumbles, "do that again." He asks a little shy. Ginny isn't so shy, she complies right away and…_Ooohh_…

She smirks up at him, but he can't see, his eyes are tightly shut as if to keep Aunt Petunia at bay. She pushes him back against the bed, he falls, gladly, and she scrambles on top of him…his eyes are closed, his hand is pulled down to where she wants it to be…

Somewhere sticky. _Ugh. _

"Harry, look at me." He opens his eyes dutifully, pulls his fingers out of the stickiness and sniffs.

_Fish. Ugh._

_Jean-Baptiste Grenouille._ He remembers the book he stole from Hermione not so long ago. A book where every page is but a description of scents and smells, a decomposition of every little whiff, fragrance and aroma…

_Fish. _He wonders if Hermione smells the same, she's brunette after all, Ginny's a red head, wasn't there something in that book…?

"Not in the mood?" the girl asks. His brow furrows and slowly his eyes travel down the length of his body, past his chest, to the dark curls surrounding his… not erection.

_Whoever said that scent was enticing? _

"err…"

"It's okay." Ginny promptly says, trying it seemed to get him up again, and yet her pumping and licking does nothing.

_Try getting an erection with Aunt Petunia in your head._ Harry thinks sourly. He lies back, shudders when he catches a whiff of that smell… and sighs.

She's still manhandling him.

"I don't think it's gonna work." He tells her, blushing. He feels entirely uncomfortable lying on her bed, and really he would like to pull his trousers back up. But she smiles at him, and her eyes are bright with…some odd kind of sympathy…

"It's alright to be nervous….just relax we'll get there."

"I'm not nervous" he replies and pushes himself up, looking anywhere but at her and the sticky, glistening hairs between her legs…

He doesn't quite know where to look… her eyes are so _understanding_…

Her nipples are pale and pink and huge, and he notes absently that Ron's nipples are small and tight and much nicer to look at anyways.

He brushes hair back from his face and…_ugh_…he's gone and spread the…ah…_fish_ all over his brow.

... he thinks ...

"..."

He remembers suddenly, there's somewhere he ought to be.

"I told your dad I'd help him with the…ah…toaster." He says, she looks at him shrewdly.

"Dad's at the Ministry."

"Err…yeah...I know…I just…before the Delacours arrive…I said I'd do it." he finishes and he knows it sounds pretty lame, but she lets it go, and he breathes in relief.

He locks the bathroom door behind him and washes his hands and face. After consideration, he slips out of his clothes for a quick shower… and when he's done he looks at himself, wrapped inside a fluffy towel and wonders.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter?!"

Oddly, he sounds like Malfoy.


	5. The Secrets of Montségur

**Notes:** This conversation takes place between Harry Potter and the OC, Valery Desmon, somewhere close to the french Pyrennees, more precisely, at the fortress of Montsegur.

You might have guessed by now, this is an extract. Fic is up for adoption, if someone's interested, PM me.

Basic plot: Spin on the usual Harry hides from Vodlemort/pretends to be dead, and turns up at Hogwarts with a new identity. This time, it's Draco who pretends to be dead and he's got help from a very distant french relative (the aformentioned Valery) and the Tonkses, because when it comes down to it, Andromeda is still a Black at heart.

Set after fifth year: Narcissa takes matters into her own hands, now that Lucius is out of the way.

the conversation is followed by...a ritual.

**Warnings**: for character death and explicit content.

* * *

"Who are you?"

_"I think you know…" _

"How can you…how are you still alive?"

_"There are many ways to reach immortality; though not all of us are as blessed as dear old Nicholas … I'm afraid… Some, like my comrades, myself included, have defiled nature. We were young and bold…innocent to the ways of life. And we paid for it…Salazar the first amongst our brethren."_

"Salazar Slytherin?"

"_The very same…his line was cursed to decline, shriveled things his children became…Madness took hold of them…Even now, I can hear their tortured souls…crying…begging for release…"_

"…"

_"I know magic of the likes you have never imagined…I could teach you all, but remember this: Magic is neither good nor bad, but it is greedy. It comes with a price. Each of us must make sacrifices…The question, Mr. Potter… is how much you are willing to sacrifice." _

"N-nothing if I can help it"

_"Then you might as well yield your wand now…a wizard unwilling to make a sacrifice is unworthy of wielding such power. We must give back as much as we take. A life for a life, that is the way of magic"_

"I won't k-kill..I w-won't kill _anyone_…"

"_No…but there are other things you might give, things She desires…"_

"There's nothing I could-"

_"Oh, there is! Your innocence for one…your heart…your very soul…You have many things She might desire, your life only one of them. She doesn't understand what it is to be human, what it is to feel…give Her all before She takes it, let Her taste the bitter sweetness of it. Else you might end like me…I've gone to hell a thousand times and back… that is my curse. I cannot exist outside these walls…we each paid our price. Even your ancestors paid their defiance twice over."_

"I…do not know of them."

_"Few remember the Peverells, though I am certain that Death herself is not likely to have forgotten. The blood of the three brothers' runs in your veins, united once again…and when the time comes She will claim you for Herself." _

"I still don't understand…the magic we do isn't-"

_"It is. It has a price, though most remain ignorant. Humans, Mr. Potter, were never meant to have it."_

"But how-"

_"Are you perchance familiar with the tale of Prometheus?"_

"…"

"_So…ignorant Mr. Potter… so innocent…" _

"…w-what is this tale?"

_"A Myth…to muggles, that is… though I dare say, even wizards have forgotten… …We stole it, Mr. Potter. We stole it and it came with a price… wizards have turned their back on Her….but soon, She shall claim her due. And we will pay, again… … When the time comes you and your friends must choose. Choose whichever path you desire, but choose wisely." _

"My…friends?"

_"Yes, Mr. Potter. Seven men discovered its secret, and seven must pay. That is the price for our magic… the price for the others to remain ignorant…it is a small sacrifice to make for the whole of our society but one, that comes at great personal cost." _

* * *

"Black magic has a price"

"I know" She answered, confidently. She understood French as if it was her mother tongue and it flowed out of her mouth naturally, like English.

"_Do you?"_ Valéry wondered, again. "Do you truly Narcissa? Or do you repeat words you have known from your childhood?"

"I…I know the price of what I ask." The old man chuckled.

"And yet…you would go forward with this."

"As would you." he turned away from her, eyes looking towards the flame. "I have paid my price already." He told her "I have seen all those I once loved die… my brothers, my wives…my sons. All of them gone and here I am, 206 years to this day, still alive when all else has faded."

She said nothing else. Valéry stood, old bones aching and took hold of his cane.

"Let me take a potion, regain some of my youth. We will start soon after." He turned his grey eyes towards her.

"I have prepared a bath for…your son. Have him disrobe and scrub himself clean of his former life. Tell him to wait for us there."

She understood the dismissal for what it was. With a small courtesy she left the room, and headed towards the guest quarters where Draco waited. He sat on his bed, shoulders tensed, dressed only in a soft silk robe, opening on the front.

His skin felt cold to her touch.

"Come with me." He nodded once and stood, drawing both ends of the robes tightly around his chest.

"Is this…manner of undress necessary?" he wondered brow furrowed. Clearly he was uncomfortable. Narcissa smiled indulgently and tucked a strand of silver hair behind his ear.

"It is." She answered "Do not fret. No one but myself and Valéry will see you." That did not seem apease him much. Barefooted he made his way across the room with Narcissa following behind him.

"So where are we…doing this?"

"Down to your left, towards the pool." He kept silent.

Once there, standing in the dark courtyard Narcissa pulled on the collar of the ritual robe. Draco's eyebrow furrowed more.

"You shall need to cleanse yourself." She said "Properly." His arms fell to his side, resigned and he gave a little whiny groan.

"I can…I can do that myself." He told her, closing the robes in his front once again, and blushing. Narcissa chuckled.

"As you wish." She pushed him forwards "I trust you know the ritual ablutions?" he blushed even more.

"Yes. I do." She nodded. "I shall leave you to it then…stay inside the pool when you are done." he nodded looking in between the pool and his mother with a puzzled expression.

"How long…will you be?"

"No more than half an hour, I believe." He sighed.

"Right then..I'll just freeze to death whilst you do…whatever it is you're doing."

"Yes, you do that." And she left again, her smile fading as soon as her back was turned. The night would be long and full of terrors…but Draco needn't know that.

She found Valéry in the dark cellar beneath the ground. He looked young again, no older than forty and he was…had been a handsome man. His back was hunched over a cauldron, muffled words reached her ears, too low for her to understand… magic crackled in the air around them…

Narcissa's step faltered just at the edge of the pentagram.

"Undress." Valéry said meeting eyes with her from behind his work table. She nodded, turning her gaze away from the small wooden coffin by his side.

It was small enough to hold a newborn babe.

_Dark magic has its price_ she remembered. Valéry had paid his with the death of his sons among which the youngest, Gabriel Eltanin Desmon, dead not a day after his birth, barely 16 years ago.

She swallowed heavily, stepping out of her shoes. The type of magic they were attempting was of the darkest kind. Anything could go wrong, from her own death…to Draco's. But she trusted Valéry, trusted that he had more experience in that particular branch of necromancy than any other wizard alive.

He was of another generation, another caliber of magical practitioner. He was bold enough to call the dark lord a blood traitor. A blood traitor who sold his body and soul to a sort of magic too ancient and too strong for him to comprehend… Voldemort was in Valéry's own words, a menace to magical kind.

With shaking hands, Narcissa undid the laces of her robes and shrugged out of them. She stood naked before him and his piercing grey eyes traveled over her body, never leaving her, whilst he took hold of the infant's bones and laid them gently into the cauldron.

"Bones of the son"

His voice was but a whisper but harsh enough to make her shudder.

The potion sizzled, swallowing the remains of the small body.

"Step closer"

He turned the fire off and took hold of her hand, he squeezing it lightly, understanding that this was a first, for her.

"Drink all of it…its quite cold"

She took the cauldron with both hands and held it against her lips. She closed her eyes.

Valery pressed a hand against the back of her head gently urging her on, while the other held the cauldron up. She drank the bitter acid, feeling tears come to her eyes. Her stomach churned but she could not stop, not now, she must drink all to the last drop no matter how much it displeased her…

His arms snaked behind her back, holding her up when her knees wouldn't. The cauldron fell from her hands, her belly cramped and she fell back against him.

He picked her up in one swift gesture and carried her towards the pentagram.

She lay naked, unmoving in front of him.

He slipped out of his robes quickly and kneeled by her, taking himself in hand. Magic swirled around them, enough to make her feel dizzy, her eyes trailed towards his cock, dark and thick, pulsing with need as it slid in and out of his calloused hands.

Her own body responded in concert, a wanton moan escaped her lips. She could only stare at this man before her, so dark and handsome and powerful…. He looked so very different from Lucius…heat pooled between her legs, her blond hair glistening with moisture.

She had never _wanted anything, or anyone _so much in her life, she had never felt such abandon, such power…

His lips curled up lightly, eyes alight with amusement.

Both his hands took hold of her hips and in one swift gesture, he entered her.

She wasn't sure how long it took, time made no sense to her anymore. She was drunk on magic, her life lay entirely in his hands. But she trusted this man, somehow. She trusted him more than anyone else before him.

He kissed one last time brushing hair from her forehead…

"Seed of the father" he whispered, and pulled out, eyes unreadable.

He pulled her up to his chest.

"Stand Narcissa, we have much to do." She nodded against him, holding on to his arms, and felt a deep chuckled rumble in his chest. He dressed her swiftly, throwing only a light ritual robe over her shoulders, before slipping back into his own.

Her legs felt weak, so weak, she could barely stand, and her chest throbbed painfully. He pulled her along, naked feet slapping against the cold stone, and suddenly they stood by the pool.

"Mother?" Draco's eyes looked alarmed, but she shook her head lightly, she could pull that off, still.

"She's fine" Valery said. "Overwhelmed." he said stepping inside the pool, robes discarded once again. He held a hand out towards her.

"Come Narcissa" gently he pulled the robes off her shoulders as well and pushed her towards Draco.

"Draco, come here, to drink from your mothers tits" Draco's eyes bulged looking back between Narcissa and Valéry, as if expecting them to tell him this was a joke.

The elder wizard pulled on his arms, making him stumble in the water.

"Must I force you? This is no time to hesitate son." With his right hand he pressed Draco's head down towards her chest.

"Drink" he repeated. Draco's lips parted only slightly, not enough…and Valéry pulled on his arm, turning his palm up. He looked at Narcissa.

"Hold him" he warned quickly before he plunged a knife into Draco's flesh. Her son screamed.

The blade slid the length of his arm, drawing blood…too much Narcissa thought as she held Draco against her, stopping his flaying arms. Then the blade disappeared as quickly as it had been conjured and Draco calmed down, lifted his head lightly, not understanding. He looked betrayed and fearful.

"Wha-" this time Valéry pulled him under water and held him down.

"Water to cleanse the blood of old" he whispered. "Water from which we stem… to take his life, and give it back."

It seemed an eternity until Draco stopped struggling. The water around them was tainted in pink. A sob spilled from her lips.

"Hold him to your chest…Cissy" Valéry whispered softly, placing her son inside her arms. He wasn't breathing.

"Hold him up, give him life." With strong fingers Valéry tilted Draco's head back, opening his mouth, and pressed it against her tit. She sobbed harder, her whole body shaking, and pressed him as much as she could against her breast, holding his head up over the water.

"We have only half an hour…after which, there's nothing to be done." Valéry said.

"Merlin be gracious" she squeezed her left breast with shaking fingers, allowing a few drops of milk to spill inside his mouth. Draco stayed unmoving.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Keep trying" Valéry urged.

She squeezed again and again, arms shaking, tired and heavy with Draco's weight. And then, finally- She felt him move, sucking her sweet milk on his own volition…

Valéry patted his hair.

"Milk of the mother" he whispered at last. "that's it son…that's it Gabriel…drink till you can't take it anymore."

And the boy in her arms drank and drank, sucking 'till it hurt, but he kept drinking, taking strength from her milk…and slowly, his body changed.

When the boy in her arms pulled back, eyes closed and half conscious, Valéry allowed himself a small smile, before he gathered him up in his own strong arms and carried him out of the pool…

Pool, Narcissa remembered that was still sullied in Draco's blood.

She stood there for a moment, unmoving, her breasts still flushed and abused.

_What have I done? _

She walked out, shuddering and kneeled, still as naked as her name day, before the two dark haired wizards. One a man of forty, the other, a young boy of 16… the mop of dark curls was unfamiliar, the jaw, the lips… all looked so unfamiliar and so unlike Draco…

_Thrice cursed is the kin slayer…_

"He's still your son." Valéry said softly. "He's still the same boy you knew." She nodded, a shaking hand reaching out to touch the dark hair.

"Do not worry yourself, he will be fine by the morrow."

At number twelve Grimmaulds place, unbeknownst to Remus Lupin, its sole occupant, a small thread of the Black family tapestry unraveled. Beneath the names _Valéry Desmon _and _Adèle Beaufort, _it hesitated just a second before rearranging itself.

_Gabriel Desmon _born on the _31/12/1979 _had never died, it decided…


End file.
